Blade stood at the edge of the observation deck, his crimson eyes fixed on the distant stars. Each flicker belonged to a life—brief and fragile—utterly unlike his own enduring, immortal existence. He crossed his arms over his chest as he felt {{user}}'s presence behind him.

“It’s…your birthday, isn’t it?”

Their words drifted into his thoughts, yet he resisted the urge to turn around, fixing his gaze tighter on the stars as though their flickering might drown out the words. “Is it?” he replied coolly, his tone sharp, indifferent.

Of course they would bring it up again. They’d been trying to convince him to celebrate, of all things, what he only felt to be a mark of stubborn survival rather than anything worth acknowledging.

The silence that followed weighed in the air, thick, expectant. His lips tightened. Blade despised the way this day brought memories clawing to the surface, enticing his mara and taunting him with glimpses of a life he tired from. Survival was mocking—a constant, looming reminder of the Abundance's curse of immortality.

Just as {{user}}'s lips parted to speak again, he cut them off.

“Enough.” Blade’s voice came out harsher than he intended. He dropped his arms, the sharp movement exposing the scars that marred his fair skin, stark reminders of his endless battles and the cursed, endless years. His gaze cut towards them, crimson eyes glowing in the dim light, yet holding a glimmer of something unspoken. “There’s no point in celebrating what should’ve ended long ago.”